


write it your way (play it again)

by milquetoasted



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Conductor!Midorima, M/M, terrible music history metaphors, violinist!Akashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5631955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milquetoasted/pseuds/milquetoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Midorima has emotional constipation, Akashi doesn’t really lose, and Takao suffers through it all. Orchestra!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	write it your way (play it again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yucc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yucc/gifts).



 

_ One of the most exciting young faces in classical music today, violinist Akashi Seijurou has been heard throughout the world as a soloist, forming relationships with leading conductors. Debuting with the Tokyo Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra at the age of twelve, he has since performed with such renowned ensembles as the Berlin Philharmonic, the London Symphony, and the Saito Kinen. Last season’s highlights saw Mr. Akashi performing with the Cincinnati Symphony and New York Philharmonic, among others, in his American tour. _

_ Mr. Akashi has been the recipient of numerous top violin prizes, placing first at the Johannes Brahms Competition in 2002 and 2005, the International Wieniawski Competition in 2003, and the Paganini Competition in 2004. In his native Japan, he has led the highest categories of the Sendai Music Competition and Tokyo International Music Competition since 2001. _

_ Equally as committed to chamber music as to solo playing, Mr. Akashi is a founding member of the Rakuzan Quintet, which performs at major international festivals. He has also recorded a number of acclaimed disks, one of the most significant of which is his widely celebrated interpretation of the Brahms Violin Concerto. Last season, his recording of Beethoven's Violin Sonatas received the BBC award for best solo CD. _

_ Mr. Akashi's achievements have earned him the prestigious Leipzig Mendelssohn prize and Grieg award. Mr. Akashi was born in Tokyo, Japan and studied at the Central Japan Music Academy and Julliard School of Music. _

 

\--

 

It seems, Midorima Shintarou thinks as he sets the paper down in front of him, that all Akashi Seijurou does is win.

 

Twenty-six years old and already established as one of the biggest names in the classical world. Born to be the heir of the opulent Akashi Corporation. Chose, rather than follow in the footsteps of his father, to study violin performance - a passion he has excelled in from a young age. Won just about every musical competition in Japan, and then some more around the world.

 

Midorima knows this story already. He has read this exact biography, the one that sits in front of him, countless times. He knows that Akashi Seijurou is an untouchable enigma, someone far above his own level (which, by the way, isn't anything to scoff at either - Midorima Shintarou, artistic director of the Tokyo Philharmonic, a conductor and pianist well known for performances carefully executed to the last detail, a familiar name in Japan. But not Akashi Seijurou.)

 

All Akashi Seijurou does is win.

 

Midorima cannot think of the last time Akashi's performance, or Akashi himself, has presented any sort of weakness. Granted, Midorima had not followed the man closely, but he has never heard of Akashi losing a competition or failing to win an award. All evidence points to the fact that Akashi Seijurou, as a violinist and human, is perfect.

 

All evidence also points to the fact that Akashi Seijurou will be joining the Tokyo Philharmonic in the upcoming season. This is both an exciting and terrifying fact, and it is the reason Midorima has been perusing the slip of paper in front of him for the past week, as if hoping that some time during the approximately 70th reread he will decipher some previously unknown meaning unlocking a new level to the enigma that is Akashi Seijurou.

 

This biography still says nothing that Midorima does not already know. Akashi Seijurou’s life is a life comprised only of victories.

 

_ Does such a life, such a human really exist? _

 

\--

 

"So, Shin-chan, you're rehearsing with him tomorrow," chirps Takao as he barges unannounced (again) into Midorima's office, bringing along his usual mug of coffee and storm of constantly beeping phone notifications. Midorima wonders briefly (again), with no real hostility, why he still puts up with Takao. The orchestra's head manager, Takao has earned himself a status as both an administrative genius and a certified idiot.

 

Takao sets his coffee down on Akashi's biography and takes a seat facing Midorima. "Akashi Seijurou.”

 

"Yes." Midorima looks at the mug on his desk disdainfully. It will probably mark Akashi's biography with an unsightly ring of water. “That is his name. Are you actually done all the paperwork for our season opener, or are you just wasting your time waltzing in here to state such obvious things?” Actually, scratch that, even if Takao  _ had _ finished the paperwork (only an 0.09% chance, highly unlikely), this was a waste of time.

 

Takao gasps in mock horror. “So cold. You don’t even know why I’m here. What if we lost the permit for the hall or something?”

 

“That is impossible. We practically own the place.” A certified idiot. Takao is failing to answer his questions like a proper person too, as usual.

 

“Well, you never know. Administration can be a bitch sometimes.”

 

“I know. It’s sitting in front of me. Why are you even here?”

 

“Right!” exclaims Takao, probably pretending to remember his reason for bothering Midorima. “I just wanted to check up on you, pre-season nervousness and all that -” (Idiocy. Midorima is never nervous about these things.) “- you know, you seem oddly fixated on Akashi-kun. It’s making you even more unapproachable than usual.”

 

"I'm sure that anybody would be. Fixated, that is." The unapproachability is not even worth commenting on, Takao has no idea what he’s talking about.

 

"Well, I’m not really sure that rereading this-" Takao makes a gesture at Akashi's biography "-will really give you any more insight his character. Unless you're committed to memorizing every single award he has won, in which case I would advise you to consult his website instead, as it's really more complete."

 

"Quit your useless blathering, Takao," says Midorima curtly. "I am simply preparing the best I can. As should you."

 

Takao stands up, lifting his mug from the desk, expression turning more serious. "I know. Just relax, ok? You auditioned him, you know."

 

"Yes. I did." It was, as expected, a flawless audition.

 

"The contract has been signed. You have an entire season to get used to him, and if it doesn't work, we'll bid him goodbye at the end of the year," continues Takao.

 

"Just relax. Rehearsal will begin tomorrow, and this" - more gestures at the biography - "will become a real person. Don't get too caught up in your head, Shin-chan. Whoever Akashi Seijurou is, he has to still be human, right?"

 

Takao shuts the door behind him. Midorima looks at the now soiled sheet of paper on his desk, and wonders.

 

\--

 

The first thing Midorima realizes during his first real meeting with Akashi Seijurou (the audition doesn't count, all Shintarou did was hear him play for a few minutes and they both already knew he would land the job anyway) is that Akashi is so  _ small _ .

 

It’s easy enough to forget this fact. Akashi radiates confidence onstage, a sense of  _ you shall kneel to me _ that blinds everything else because he’s simply that good, making everyone look up at the god. But here in this cramped elevator, waiting an eternity to go up three floors, Midorima looks down and sideways and just thinks about how small Akashi looks, how remarkably human.

 

“Midorima-san,” says Akashi quietly but clearly, breaking the silence. “It’s nice to meet you again.”

 

“Same to you.” Midorima’s gaze shifts to the sliding display in the elevator, where it shows that there are still, impossibly, two floors to go. There is a strange awkwardness hanging in the air. Since when has he felt like this? Midorima is not the most social of people and he knows it, but he has never cared much for inanities like small talk or unnecessary interaction, and it’s never affected him. Why does he feel so tongue tied, like he wants to say something more but can’t, when simple professional greetings are a perfectly acceptable answer?

 

“I look forward to working with you this season,” continues Akashi. Midorima risks glancing at him again, and their eyes meet, red on green. He adjusts his glasses and averts his gaze.

 

The rest of their elevator ride is spent in a thick silence, as is the walk to the stage area. They part ways - Akashi to the backstage to set down his belongings, Midorima to the control room - and Midorima breathes again. In the control room, Takao is waiting and gives him a questioning look that has  _ Akashi Seijurou, hm? _ written all over it, but Midorima simply takes out his things and walks onstage.

 

He organizes his notes and sheet music on the conductor’s stand as the orchestra continues filing in and warming up, a familiar blend of noise. When Akashi enters, Midorima feels that strange awkwardness again, not daring to look as the violinist takes his seat at the front, right next to Midorima in the concertmaster’s position.

 

When everyone has settled in, he motions for silence and gives his first-rehearsal speech. As he gives the necessary introduction of Akashi Seijurou as this year’s exciting new concertmaster, he keeps his voice steady, shakes Akashi’s hand as the orchestra gives a brief applause, and turns back to his score.

 

\--

 

Takao all but pounces on him when Midorima is leaving the building after rehearsal. “So. How was it?”

 

“A good rehearsal, as expected. The players are well prepared for the workload, as they should be. It will be another successful season.”

 

“No, I meant.” Takao looks exasperated. “How was  _ he _ ?”

 

“If by he you are referring to Akashi, he played well. Although he does not have rich orchestral experience, Akashi has left me with the impression that he is a capable leader.”

 

"Shin-chan, you're no fun. So technical about everything. What I actually meant was, you've basically spent the past week in some sort of trance about this guy. What's he actually like? Did you talk to him? How does the real Akashi Seijurou compare to that sheet of paper in your office?"

 

The real Akashi Seijurou, Midorima wants to say, is tiny and seems human and makes him feel awkward and tongue-tied and plays as perfectly as his paper self says. The real Akashi Seijurou is still just as much of an enigma but makes him more unsure what to feel.

 

Lost in his thoughts, Midorima does not realize he has yet to respond until Takao says, with a glint in his eyes, “So he’s like that, huh?”

 

Had Takao somehow acquired mind-reading powers? “I don’t believe I said anything. What, exactly, does ‘that’ mean?” Midorima does not need this added confusion in his life. His own thoughts about Akashi are already difficult enough to sort out, as it is, without Takao throwing in inanities.

 

“You’ll figure it out, Shin-chan. Maybe.”

 

\--

 

The season moves forward, and Midorima settles into his usual comfort zone more and more. Rehearsals, concerts, media, guest performers. It is all familiar and welcome. He studies new scores every week and talks to his players and staff, determined to maintain the level of quality the orchestra expects of itself.

 

Midorima finds pleasure in dissecting each piece they play, looking at the broad picture and the small details, planning each rehearsal for maximum efficiency. Do all you can to prepare, and luck will be on your side for every performance. Man proposes, God disposes.

 

He has not had much time to interact with Akashi. After that first time, he has never bumped into the violinist in the elevator, mostly due to updating his routine to arrive at the hall earlier (for purposes of having more time to prepare before rehearsal, of course, nothing else, not at all). Their interactions during rehearsal are professional and their lives outside are separate, and Midorima is back in familiar waters.

 

The awkwardness from their first meeting begins to dissipate as Midorima gets used to exchanging polite greetings and discussing symphonies and overtures with Akashi, but the underlying feeling of tension never quite goes away. Every time Midorima speaks to Akashi, there is still a slight urge to say something more than usual, to take the subject away from Waltz No. 4. But he does not know what he would say anyway, so he carries on and lets the feeling sit there, making sure to analyze an extra recording later to push the unease to the back of his mind. Akashi, for his part, appears content with the status quo - always polite, always confident, always perfect.

 

It is about a month into the season that Midorima finds Akashi standing at the entrance to the subway station near their hall after a concert, staring at his phone and looking slightly lost. It is a look that Midorima has never seen on Akashi before, this man who is never unsure and never wrong, and he feels like he has intruded on a very private moment.

 

His briefly considers turning around and walking to another station, but at that moment Akashi lifts his head and says, “Hello, Midorima. Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” Akashi has morphed back into his usual composed expression, placing his phone in his pocket and smiling.

 

Midorima nods in response as he stops beside Akashi. “Good concert today. Are you on your way somewhere?”

 

“Just home,” replies Akashi. “And you?”

 

“I am heading home as well. Which route do you take?”

 

“I live near Yushima station, so I’ll be taking the Chiyoda line northward.”

 

“I see.” Midorima is pleasantly surprised. “I, too, commute along the Chiyoda line, though I go a bit farther, to Sendagi. It’s odd that we’ve never seen each other on the trains before.”

 

“Ah, I don’t always take the subway,” explains Akashi. He then holds the door open, and motions for Midorima to enter. “Shall we depart?”

 

Thanking Akashi, Midorima walks into the station and to the ticket collector, depositing his fare and proceeding to the underground level. He is vaguely aware of Akashi copying his movements behind him, silent but present.

 

And then they are on the train, standing quietly next to each other in the middle of one of the cars, and Midorima feels like he’s all the way back in that elevator from the first day again, awkward and unsure of what to say. Only this time the two of them aren’t strangers anymore, and there are other people too, not quite watching them but adding to Midorima’s sense of unease.

 

Akashi, he notices, has not grabbed any handholds despite the fact that they are standing. When the doors close and the train lurches ahead, he wobbles a bit, unconsciously grabbing Midorima’s arm as he lifts his hands to prevent himself from falling. Midorima feels a spark of heat from the sudden contact, rising uncontrollably from his arm to his face.  _ I’m just tired _ , he thinks as he desperately tries not to react,  _ this entire encounter was an unexpected development, calm down, even Akashi Seijurou would lose his balance standing with no support on a moving train, there is no reason to be reacting in such a way  _ -

 

“Sorry” says Akashi quietly as he rights himself, removing his hand from Midorima’s arm, the spark now gone but the warmth lingering behind. Midorima pulls down one of the overhead handholds, offering it to Akashi as he assures him that it was ok, suggests that Akashi should probably hold onto something.

 

“Yes, right. Thank you.” Akashi reaches up to take the handhold, looking distracted. Midorima notices how Akashi has to straighten his arm a bit to reach, how his red eyes are more unguarded than usual. In this span of not even ten minutes, he thinks, he has already discovered more about Akashi than from the past month of rehearsals, from the week of reading his biography, from the years of hearing his name in the news. Of course, Midorima still knows next to nothing about the man. But somehow Akashi has now become just a bit more human, a bit more connectable. It is reassuring and exciting and terrifying, and he hopes that Akashi cannot hear the intensifying of his pulse or see his blush.

 

Thankfully, Akashi does not seem to notice Midorima irrationally making a fool of himself, and stares abstractly at the advertisements on the subway walls. Their rest of their ride is spent in silence again. Midorima looks at Akashi, who is still observing the walls, and he studies his features, his bright red hair, his outstretched hand on the handhold, the violin case on his back. He has never looked at Akashi so closely before, and he is still not used to seeing the violinist in such an uncomposed state. From this angle, he can see Akashi’s tired expression, his elegant nose, his slender fingers calloused from years of playing the violin, and Midorima commits all these new details to memory.

 

He is jolted out of his trance by the mechanical voice of the train system announcing arrival at Yushima station. It appears that Akashi is still in somewhat of a daze, and Midorima clears his throat. “It’s your stop.”

 

Akashi flinches for a brief second, then thanks Midorima and rushes out of the train moments before the doors close. He turns and raises his hand in goodbye, lips turning up into a tiny smile, and Midorima returns the gesture as the train takes off again and Akashi disappears from his view.

 

He spends the remaining two stops home disoriented, new thoughts and observations swirling in his mind. So Akashi Seijurou, too, has times when he is off guard, when he is tired, and this is what he looks like when such moments happen. As he exits the train and climbs the escalator, Midorima is still wondering about the distracted look in Akashi’s eyes when his phone rings.

 

_ Unknown number _ , the display reads, and Midorima lifts the phone to his ear, breathing out in an annoyed sigh. What cretin is calling him at this time of the night? He really shouldn’t have even bothered answering, it was probably a telemarketer -

 

“Hello, Midorima, I apologize for bothering you.” Akashi’s voice floats into his ear and Midorima almost jumps in shock. “It appears that this station has a more complex structure than I had anticipated. Do you happen to know where the exit is?”

 

What? Akashi was lost? How on earth did that manage to happen? And why did he have Midorima’s phone number? This was too much to process in one night. Midorima mutters a terse “Hold on, please, I’ll be there in a few minutes” without thinking, runs up the rest of the escalator, down the stairs, and onto the southbound train. The two stops back to Yushima are a tired haze of  _ what is happening _ and  _ why am I even doing this _ , and then Midorima is off the train and up the escalator and he find Akashi standing outside the ticket booth, looking at his phone again.

 

“You didn’t need to return,” states Akashi. “But thank you for taking the time to do so. Which one of the exits leads to the main intersection at street level? I have already tried two, but ended up at the buses and on an unknown small road.”

 

“The one down the hallway to our right,” Midorima replies. “I’ll walk you there.” Not giving Akashi a chance to protest, he begins to stride to the exit, slowing his pace when he realizes that Akashi has shorter legs.

 

“Once again, I apologize for inconveniencing you like this,” says Akashi, and he sounds every bit as tired as Midorima feels. Only…

 

“Akashi-san.” Midorima turns to look at the violinist. “Have you taken the underground before?”

 

Akashi sighs and hooks his fingers onto the strap of his violin case. “No. I have not.”

 

“I see.” Well. So this is why Akashi was so out of it - an entirely new environment after a long concert. Midorima should have noticed the signs from the beginning of their ride, but in any case, this was certainly an interesting new fact. “Never in your life? That’s quite surprising.”

 

“I’ve always been driven, mostly due to my father’s wishes. Recently, though, I’ve decided a change would be welcome.”

 

“Your father?”

 

“I would appreciate it if we did not elaborate on that matter. It’s not a very favourable subject.” Akashi sighs again. “I am sorry, though.”

 

He stops in front of a tall condominium building. “It seems we’ve arrived at my place. Thank you, Midorima. It was very considerate of you to help me like this today. I will remember it.”

 

“I’m glad to have been of assistance,” replies Midorima. “It was nice to see you outside of work for a bit. Good night.”

 

“Good night.” And Akashi is gone again.

 

Midorima is, really, glad for the experience - perhaps. He thinks he has just a slightly better picture of the man from the shining biography, who is now less of an enigma than before, but this new information still has the function of making his own thoughts and feelings that much more confusing.

 

As he walks the two blocks back to his building, the spot on his arm where Akashi touched him feels a lingering burn.

 

\--

 

The next morning at rehearsal, Akashi is his usual poised self, no visible trace of the vulnerable man from last night. When Midorima walks onto the stage, he thinks he sees something more than usual in Akashi’s smile, hears something more in their greetings to each other, but he can never be sure.

 

Neither of them mention the encounter, but there is a feeling of… something there. Midorima can’t really describe it. He’s never really been close with anyone except for Takao, who had annoyed his way into Midorima’s life to become an irreplaceable friend, and these emotions are unfamiliar and perplexing. He goes as far as thinking of consulting Takao to gain some insight on the issue.  _ That _ , though, would only be asking for trouble, as Takao obviously has some sort of secret and wildly inaccurate theories about Akashi and Midorima (evident through his vague wording and questionable mind-reading skills whenever the conversation drifts towards the topic of the violinist). Takao would probably laugh knowingly and cause Midorima great distress if the conductor ever brought up his quandary.

 

Odd feelings aside, Midorima finds that spending time with Akashi is quite a pleasant thing. The two of them commute together after work regularly now, and after that first trip, their train rides begin to fill with conversation. Akashi often has valuable input on the pieces they play, and Midorima is glad for the added insight of such a renowned musician. He fears at first that they would not be able to find any more common topics of conversation ( _ there’s that irrationality again, there is really no necessity of speaking about other topics _ , he reminds himself), but one day he notices that Akashi is holding a newspaper and tentatively broaches the subject of a recent historical column. Akashi replies with his customary grace, and they are still discussing the political structure of the Edo period when the train arrives at Akashi’s stop.

 

They talk about everything from mathematics to Japanese basketball teams. Midorima looks forward to each ride, anticipates their conversations, because Akashi is so surprisingly  _ easy to talk to _ that the untouchable man from the biography fades into a distant memory. Midorima no longer feels awkward and tongue-tied, and the desire to say something more, while it never fades away, becomes less of a constant concern.

 

“You seem happier recently, Shin-chan,” remarks Takao during one of their bi-weekly movie nights, where he drags Midorima to his apartment across from the concert hall and forces him to ‘catch up a bit with modern culture, stop being such an old man all the time’. “Things seem to be going well with Akashi.”

 

“Yes, I suppose they are.” Midorima has a bad feeling about this conversation already - Takao has a calculating expression on his face - but he’s tired, and he supposes it’s better to find out what the idiot is up to anyway.

 

“How well?”

 

That is an… oddly worded question, thinks Midorima. “I discovered that we take the same route home on the underground. Akashi is quite a good conversationalist. He is, as expected, knowledgeable, and actually has an appreciation for culture, unlike some other buffoons I know.” Sideways glance at whatever trashy title Takao has picked out for tonight.

 

Incredibly, Takao fails to react in his usual exaggerated way to Midorima’s harsh comments on his tastes and character. “So he’s an old man like you, hm? Looks like a pretty nice match.” He winks. “You guys do seem very comfortable with each other.”

 

Yes, Midorima has an extremely bad feeling about this conversation now. A change of topic would be highly ideal -

 

“Has he asked you out yet?”

 

A brief silence. Then a cough and splutter, and Midorima feels his face go red. “I - what kind of question is THAT? Our relationship is not of that type! Takao!”

 

“Really now? First the fixation after we hired him, then the weird emotional constipation from the first rehearsal, now these romantic train rides, not to mention the fact your face is completely red -” Takao grins like he’s just solved a logic puzzle. “I know you pretty well, Shin-chan, don’t even try to deny it. At the very least, you definitely have a thing for him.”

 

“That is not - I do not have a  _ thing _ for anyone! This is foolishness! Akashi is a friend, nothing more. Your accusations are absurd. Now, were we not going to watch this?” Midorima picks up the DVD and shoves it at Takao.

 

Takao takes the disc but makes no move to insert it in the laptop. “Sorry, but not sorry, Shin-chan. Just wanted to help you a bit, you know. After all, emotions have never really been your strong suit”

 

What kind of help is this, all Takao is doing is spouting falsehoods and making him feel extremely uncomfortable, thinks Midorima, and he opens his mouth to say so. He has  _ never _ thought of Akashi in such a way. But Takao holds up a hand to silence him. “I won’t say any more about this for now. But do think about it.

 

“Now, Marvel awaits!”

 

\--

 

Midorima returns home the next day still very much distraught. So those were Takao’s theories - he really would have been better off not knowing. How will he face Akashi at their next rehearsal, now that such (preposterous) ideas are planted in his brain?  _ Takao is an idiot _ , he repeats over and over in his mind,  _ such accusations about my nonexistent love life have no basis whatsoever _ , and he almost manages to convince himself as he blasts Shostakovich’s Tenth Symphony from his record player.

 

The implications, though, cannot leave his mind, and Midorima ends up distracted partway through the fourth movement. All things considered, Akashi as a partner… would not be a terrible thing from what he knew so far, hypothetically. They had many shared interests and enjoyed each other’s company, and logistically their schedules and workplaces were extremely convenient. It was not typical of Midorima to let anyone into his life easily, but commuting and conversing with Akashi just feeled so… natural. Although Midorima still did not know much about Akashi’s personal life, that first subway ride together was, perhaps, a glimpse, and such things would be revealed eventually… It was all a theoretical situation, of course, such a development would never happen. Akashi could be happily married for all he knew. There was also no indication that the violinist was interested in men. Midorima, though he knew he was gay, would have no issue with spending the rest of his life without a partner - he had reached that conclusion a few years ago - but Takao’s suggestion was not insulting. Hypothetically.

 

_ This is too confusing, _ Midorima decides when he finally notices, half an hour later, that the recording had long since stopped playing, leaving an empty silence throughout his condominium.  _ Something is wrong with my head. _

 

As he slowly drifts off on the sofa despite the time barely being noon, the last thing he remembers is Akashi’s tired expression, a picture forever etched into his mind.

 

Somehow he manages to appear composed - or so he hopes - when their next rehearsal rolls around and he must confront Akashi again. The sight of the familiar head of red hair and confident, youthful face when the violinist walks onstage makes Midorima’s pulse jump a bit, and he swears he can hear Takao’s laughter from the control room.

 

Rehearsal passes without a hitch (the brass section had started out a bit sleepy, which was rather disappointing considering they had just had two days off, but by the second half things were back to normal and Midorima wasn’t worried), and the familiar routine has the effect of calming Midorima down somewhat. When he walks out of the hall alongside Akashi, however, Takao grins at him when he waves goodbye, and Midorima gets a sinking feeling in his stomach.

 

“How have things been in the past few days?” Akashi inquires as they ride the escalator down to track level, turning to look at Midorima. “You seem a bit distracted.”

 

“Ah, Y-yes - I mean, everything is as usual,” Midorima stutters. So he had not put up as good a front as he had hoped - Akashi noticed something, after all. Although was that due to failure on Midorima’s part, or the fact that Akashi had just become better at reading him? It was nice, he supposed, that Akashi cared.  _ Stupid Takao, stupid thoughts _ , he laments quickly, remembering to give a more adequate reply. “Takao said something that’s been… on my mind, I suppose. It is nothing major. He is rather idiotic at times.”

 

“Ah.” Akashi nods. “You two seem close. I hope everything works out.”

 

“Thank you,” says Midorima as the enter the train. Then, out of nothing, he blurts out, “Akashi, are you in a relationship?”

 

Akashi raises his eyebrows slightly at the sudden question, but doesn’t comment on it. “I am not,” he replies. “My father, of course, has been suggesting that I find a suitable spouse soon, and he still has not given up in his matchmaking attempts, even during my frequent travels during the past few years. I have not been been pleased with his interference… but I digress. The answer is no. I haven’t quite tried with the right person yet, I think.”

 

There it is, the topic of his father again, popping up so rarely yet obviously a source of bitterness for the violinist. Midorima finds himself incredibly curious, but it would be rude to ask. The topic has already turned too personal, it was definitely rude of him to ask such a thing…

 

Midorima answers with a simple “I see,” still regretting his words.

 

“And you?” Akashi asks.

 

“I am not in a relationship either. After hearing your situation, I suppose I’m fortunate not to have such a persistent source of interference -”

 

Wait. Midorima cuts himself off as Takao suddenly appears in mind. There’s a source of interference all right, that’s how he got into this mess of a conversation in the first place. “Well, perhaps. I’m not sure.”

 

“Ah.” Akashi’s expression is unreadable. “I actually suspected for a while that there was something between you and Takao. A silly assumption on my part.”

 

“It’s all right. But yes, there is nothing happening between myself and Takao. Do not worry about that. He seems rather happy with his pattern of sporadic dating, and I prefer not to involve myself with that that too much.” Worry? What is he saying? Why would Akashi be worried about such a thing?

 

“I see.” Akashi continues. “So I assume you’re not looking for a romantic relationship, then?”

 

“I - “ This is very slippery ground. Everything Takao said three days ago is too dangerously present in Midorima’s brain, hindering his ability to think up a coherent response. What did he say to Takao when asked about this same topic years ago?  _ Think. Think. Calm down. _ “Well. I suppose I am not actively searching for one, no - solitude is comfortable for me. But if someone suitable were to appear, I would not be opposed to trying.” Truthful, and neutral. Nothing, he hopes, that gives away the jumble of emotions in his chest.

 

Akashi looks thoughtful. “I see.” There is a lot of ‘seeing’ in this conversation, Midorima notices, and it is getting rather awkward even for his standards. For the first time, he glances at the digital display on the train to gauge the remaining time on their ride. Still three stops to go before Akashi arrives home. He looks at Akashi, at the outstretched arm and the fingers on the handhold, and wants at once both for the ride to come to an end and to find out more.

 

“It seems you’ve managed to find some peace on the subject,” Akashi says after a while. “That’s quite fortunate.

 

_ That can’t be farther from the truth _ , Midorima wants to yell,  _ I thought I found peace, but then you came and I can’t tell anymore _ . Instead, he keeps his eyes on Akashi’s hand, his mouth shut.

 

“I wish I could say the same for myself,” says Akashi, looking distant. “but I’m afraid I’m not so independent. Loneliness. It can be difficult sometimes.”

 

After another pause, he continues. “But I’m glad I decided to audition for the Tokyo Philharmonic. It was a good choice. I’m enjoying the position here so far. Thank you.”

 

“No, thank you for coming,” Midorima replies, smiling slightly. “You could have gone anywhere, but we’re lucky enough to have you.” Yes, turn the conversation back to professional territory. This is good.

 

“I guess we’re both lucky, then,” says Akashi. “Good night, we’ve arrived at my stop.” He turns to Midorima before exiting the subway car. “And good luck.”

 

“Same to you.”

 

As the doors close, Midorima realizes, belatedly, that he may have just admitted to himself that he  _ might _ have - as Takao puts it -  _ a thing _ for Akashi Seijurou, because he is running out of excuses and reasons for his awkwardness and unexplainable emotions and lack of peace, and now that he knows Akashi is single, some of the barriers he’d set up are gone.

 

_ I’m in so much trouble. _

 

\--

 

“You’ll never guess what we managed to plan for our mid-season concert!” Takao is practically skipping as he bangs open the door to Midorima’s office. His coffee mug is still full and dangerously close to spilling, which makes it a bit terrifying how hyper he is.

 

“I was up so late last night phoning Kuroko-kun about the details,” he continues, not bothering to elaborate on the identity of this Kuroko-kun, “and would you believe it, Shin-chan?” Takao places his mug down and sits dangerously close to Midorima’s personal space, his eyes glittering.

 

“We’re getting Akashi to play with us! As a soloist this time! Nijimura-san will assume the concertmaster position in his place for the concert, and it will be a perfect opportunity to showcase the virtuosic talent of this season’s new concertmaster, who has been regrettably absent from the solo-playing scene for the past few months, as the critics have been saying!”

 

“You - sorry, slow down, please, Takao, could you repeat that again? Akashi what?” Midorima’s head is spinning slightly. It is too early for this.

 

“Kuroko-kun and I have been in contact for about a week now - he’s Akashi’s manager - and we were telling each other about our darkest troubles,” Takao says dramatically, “and it became evident that what this orchestra and its concertmaster needs is a concert featuring Akashi as the solo performer!” He looks extremely pleased with himself.

 

Rightfully so, too. Midorima is intrigued. “So he’s going to play with the orchestra? That’s actually a good idea.” He’s really quite impressed with Takao, now that the situation is more clear. “It will attract a large audience for sure, and I personally do anticipate the opportunity to work with Akashi as a soloist.” Takao looks like he’s about to make a snide remark, but Midorima speaks on. “When is this scheduled for? Has the programme been decided? Surely we must begin promoting the event soon.”

 

“It’s going to be our mid-season concert, Shin-chan, I thought I said that already.” Takao shakes his head, but his expression is still as excited as it was when he first stormed in. “As for the piece, I think you should ask Akashi about that yourself! He’s the performer!”

 

At that moment, Takao’s phone rings. He stands up, drawing the device out of his pocket. “Work hard, Shin-chan!” he calls out, and disappears down the hall, chattering away to the person on the other end of the line.

 

Midorima sighs, but he already feels more animated than he has in weeks. This was, certainly, a golden opportunity. Bless Takao for creating the event. Midorima will get to see Akashi perform, solo, will actually stand on stage with Akashi watching the genius in his most natural element.

 

There is still the minor (extremely major) issue of Midorima’s entire  _ Akashi Issue _ , but that - that is a side concern for now. Here he is going to deal with Akashi Seijurou the world-renowned violinist, not Akashi Seijurou the ordinary human. Midorima tells himself there is a definite difference.

 

\--

 

Midorima’s phone rings shortly before noon,  _ Unknown Number _ staring him in the face. He picks it up on the third ring and Akashi’s voice sounds. “Good morning, Midorima.”

 

He must have forgotten to put Akashi’s number into his contacts after that single call on the subway months ago, he realizes, and he still doesn’t know how Akashi has  _ his _ number.

 

Akashi’s voice, though, reminds him of yesterday, and Midorima stumbles slightly on his reply. “Y-yes, good morning. How are you?”

 

“Good, thanks. This may have been brought to your attention already, but my manager, Tetsuya, reached an agreement with the administrative staff of the Philharmonic last night. I will be performing a solo.”

 

“Takao told me about it this morning.” Midorima smiles. “I look forward to the working with you as a soloist. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while, actually. Have you decided what piece you’ll be playing?”

 

“The piece I’ve chosen is the Tchaikovsky concerto,” says Akashi, “and thank you. I anticipate the project as well.”

 

“That’s a classic,” Midorima notes immediately. “Though it seems a bit… different from your usual style, if I may say so.”

 

“True. But things have changed quite a bit for me since coming here, I’ve found, and the changes are not unwelcome. I do mean what I said last night. This place was the right choice.”

 

A year ago, Midorima would have been extremely pleased that a musician of such a high level was impressed by their orchestra. He would have taken pride in the acknowledgement all his meticulous preparations and efforts. Now, though, he wants to ask,  _ is it just the orchestra? What about me? What did you really mean? _

 

_ What am I trying to do? _

 

“Midorima,” continues Akashi, “I would like it if we could go for dinner together after rehearsal tomorrow.”

 

Midorima actually jumps in his chair. “What for?” He feels a flush creeping up his face.

 

“To celebrate the project, I suppose. You could put it that way. Although I simply wish to spend time with you as well. Is there an issue?”

 

“Yes. I mean. No. That would be great. Do you have anywhere in mind?”

 

“There’s a nice place a few hundred meters down from the hall called Yosen Restaurant. It’s small, but the food is good. They serve excellent dessert.”

 

“That sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow, Akashi.”

 

“Yes. Have a nice day.”

 

Midorima hangs up the phone, still in a state of shock. Dinner with Akashi… he had replied so rudely at first, as well! He was most likely overreacting, Akashi probably just wanted to talk about the orchestra. Though the violinist had said that he wished to spend time with Midorima… but that didn’t mean anything. Midorima was jumping to conclusions. He was being illogical. Surely Akashi meant this as a simple outing with a friend.

 

His distracted state remains for the rest of the day and Midorima finds himself unable to focus on the scores in front of him, his mind replaying Akashi’s call over and over. When he walks out of his office at the end of the day, he does not notice that he has bumped into one of the cleaning staff until various pineapple-related threats are being yelled in his face, and is debating between apologizing and snapping at the guy when Takao shows up.

 

“Hey Shin-chan, have you talked to- oh, hello, Miyaji! What’s up?”

 

“Get this idiot out of here before I call Kimura and smash both your faces in! Wandering around the halls like that, almost knocked over the trash bins, I don’t fucking  _ care _ if he’s conducting jesus come alive or something -”

 

“Yes, yes, we’ll be going!” Takao hurriedly pushes Midorima out of the building before Miyaji can finish his diatribe. The guy has always had anger issues. “So.” He turns to face Midorima. “As I was saying earlier. Have you talked to Akashi yet? Oi, Shin-chan, I’m speaking to you, stop daydreaming about your crush and listen to me -”

 

“I was not daydreaming, you fool.” Midorima pushes his glasses up brusquely and huffs. “To answer your question, yes, Akashi phoned me. He said -” he cuts off his sentence and begins staring into space again, ignoring Takao’s frantic waves.

 

“Akashi said what? Shin-chan? Hello?” Takao is jumping up and down by now, and they are still at the back entrance to the hall. “Ok, what happened? Don’t tell me he actually asked you out or something and you’re having a mental breakdown?”

 

Goddamn Takao and his goddamn mind-reading. Although his wording was rather inaccurate and demanded correction. “That is… I am not having a mental breakdown. I am simply tired.” Midorima adjusts his glasses again, and decides he might as well spill to Takao. “Akashi phoned me and invited me to dinner after rehearsal tomorrow.”

 

“ _ Not _ ,” he continues, raising a hand when Takao looks ready to burst, “In the way you have been suggesting. Akashi simply wishes to discuss the upcoming concert. We are coworkers and friends. I should be heading home now.” Midorima almost wants to ask Takao’s advice, but his pride soon takes over and he begins striding towards the subway station.

 

“Hold on, Shin-chan.” Takao runs to catch up and is next to Midorima in a second. “I’m coming with you.”

 

“No. That is completely unnecessary, Takao.”

 

“Oh, but I think it is. You look pretty nervous about your date.”

 

“It is not a date.”

 

Takao laughs. “If you say so. But you don’t want to make a fool of yourself, do you, Shin-chan? Besides, I haven’t been over in ages!” Takao is now slipping into the station behind him, and Midorima knows he has lost.

 

He listens half-heartedly to Takao’s inane chatter throughout the ride, still pondering the meaning of Akashi’s invitation. Thankfully, Takao does not explode until they are safely inside Midorima’s condominium.

 

“So!” The manager jumps up and down a few times, then stands facing Midorima. “I know you’re probably super nervous and worrying excessively, but don’t think too much or you’ll end up becoming a literal old man even faster than your current alarming pace, ok?”

 

“I am not,” grumbles Midorima, “an old man. I am 28 years old.”

 

Takao ignores Midorima’s perfectly valid argument and plows on. “You should probably, like, try to vent or something. Emotional constipation is dangerous, you know, and you’ve been walking on the edge for a long time.”

 

Midorima sighs. Venting is practically impossible. Maybe Takao’s right, he does have difficulty expressing himself, but it’s not that big of a deal, he’s lived so far, and Takao’s way of putting it is really… crude. He supposes he needs to do something about this mess of thoughts and emotions though. “I don’t…”

 

_ Calm down. Try again _ . “As I have already told you, Akashi invited me to dinner with him after rehearsal tomorrow,” Midorima explains. “It was unexpected, that is all. I am not accustomed to such things, but it is probably not a big deal. I must prepare adequately for the event, and it should go smoothly.”

 

Going through things logically really has always helped Midorima. He already feels much calmer. Man proposes, God disposes. Prepare, and you shall be rewarded. Yes. Midorima squashes the rest of his jitters as much as he can in a dark corner of his brain.

 

“That’s the spirit.” Takao still looks a bit worried, as if he knows that Midorima is putting up a front, but he lets the matter slide. “We have to prepare you, to the best of our ability, for your date, then!”

 

“It is not a date.” Takao must have hearing issues.

 

The man in question, however, is already pulling up a list of rules on his phone, and Midorima can only sigh and surrender again.

 

\--

 

Yosen is, as Akashi had described, small, but comfortable. Midorima and Akashi manage to find seats almost as soon as they enter, and are greeted by a tall waiter with dark hair covering one eye. “Nice to see you again, Akashi-san,” the waiter greets. “And you are, if I’m not mistaken, Midorima-kun from the Philharmonic?”

 

“Yes.” So Akashi is familiar with the owners of this place. It’s not surprising, Midorima thinks, considering Akashi’s range of influence. He’s a bit shocked that a waiter at a small place like this would recognize him, but they are quite close to the hall after all.

 

“I’ve been working with Midorima this season, as you may be aware,” states Akashi. “It’s been a pleasant third of a year so far.”

 

“That’s nice to hear.” The waiter sets down two menus in front of them. “I’ll be back to take your order when you’re ready. Please enjoy your stay.”

 

“Thank you, Himuro,” Akashi replies.

 

Midorima opens his menu. His eye is immediately drawn to the listing of shiruko, and he recalls Akashi commending the place’s desserts, but first things first. He turns to Akashi, who is looking back at him, his menu untouched. “Anything you would recommend here?”

 

“Their udon is highly recommended, though I myself prefer the tofu soup. Anything is likely to be quite good, though. Murasakibara is very capable.”

 

“I see. You’re familiar with the chef?”

 

“I’ve known him for a while, yes.” Akashi’s smile is slightly fond. “Eccentric, but very dedicated to his work. And loyal.”

 

“Ah.” At that moment, Himuro passes by again, and Midorima nods to Akashi, who waves at the waiter. They order their dishes - Midorima gets chicken udon, and Akashi tofu soup. The food, when it arrives, is delicious, and the two eat in a comfortable silence for a while.

 

“Thanks for inviting me here today,” Midorima says, breaking the silence. “This is an excellent place.”

 

Akashi nods. “I did say it would be good. It’s nice that you’re enjoying yourself so far.” He chews another bite of tofu and swallows. “Did you hear about the Seahorses’ game yesterday? They were surprising dominant.”

 

Midorima nods, and the conversation begins to flow naturally from there. They move from JBL to Greece to trading stories about Miyaji the cleaner’s violent tendencies, and as Midorima finishes his shiruko (perfect, he must come back again sometime) and they pay and leave, it occurs to him that not once during the full hour did they actually discuss the mid-season concert or the Tchaikovsky concerto. In fact, the entire thing had gone by so naturally that he is left with a feeling of confidence - perhaps his worries from the previous day had been foolish. Takao had indeed helped him prepare adequately for the occasion, and everything had gone as well as it should.

 

As they approach Yushima station on the subway ride back, Akashi turns to Midorima and smiles. “That was an enjoyable evening,” he says. “Thank you. If you are willing, we should go again sometime.”

 

“Indeed.” Midorima finds himself smiling back. “I enjoyed it as well, and would not mind repeating the experience. Rest well, Akashi.”

 

“See you tomorrow.”

 

Watching Akashi’s slight figure climb up the escalator and away, Midorima thinks of the violinist’s face, and how he had seemed so genuinely happy. That night, he goes to bed feeling at peace, his heart light.

 

\--

 

Takao grills him for information about his “date” the next day, and at first, Midorima is still in a sufficiently good mood that he replies with just a bit less annoyance than usual. Takao’s idiocy, of course, is still a force to be reckoned with, and Midorima is thankful when Akashi arrives at the hall, greeting him and ignoring Takao’s knowing look.

 

“Seriously, are you sure you’re not together yet?” Takao asks when Midorima enters the control room during break. Midorima pointedly ignores him.

 

And everything feels right. Akashi is open and easy to talk to, concerts are progressing as usual, Takao is annoying. There is the issue, as Takao likes to point out, that Midorima and Akashi’s relationship  _ still _ has not progressed any farther, but Midorima pushes it aside. He’s ok with things as they are, right now.

 

On another movie night two weeks later, Takao decides to up his pestering game. “So. Shin-chan,” he begins, pausing from the stack of DVDs he was poring over, “I read something really interesting about Brahms the other day.”

 

“Really?” A rather unusual topic for Takao to breach. While knowledgeable and appreciative of classical music as the manager of a major orchestra should be, Takao has never gone out of his way to do such research, at least not to Midorima’s attention. “What would that be?”

 

“This guy had this really huge complex,” says Takao, making a sweeping gesture with his hands. “He couldn’t get over Beethoven, or something. Spent most of his life thinking he wasn’t good enough to compose, and just kept waiting for basically nothing.”

 

“That is the gist of it, yes.” Midorima does not bother with the details.

 

“He didn’t write a symphony until he was forty! All because he didn’t think he was prepared enough, kept stalling and stalling and preparing and preparing, and couldn’t find the guts to actually act on something. Can you believe it?”

 

“Yes, I know of this story.” Midorima is becoming rather confused about Takao’s sudden fascination with Brahms. “But once he managed to take the first step, Brahms proved to be a brilliant composer. His first symphony is a masterpiece, every bit worthy of the master he had obsessed over for so long. What is your purpose in all of this?”

 

“Don’t you think it’s an  _ interesting story? _ Really has a moral and stuff, right?”

 

“Please stop wasting time with your theatrics.”

 

“Hear me out on this one, Shin-chan, I promise it’s good.” Takao is grinning. “So, I think that what we can take out of the thrilling tale of Brahms is that sometimes you just gotta go for it! Don’t wait until you’re forty! Preparation is good and all that, but a man needs to act! And then maybe.” Wink. “Success will come. But if you keep stalling, then the world will never be able to know what it might have missed.”

 

“Of what relevance is this?” Midorima is getting annoyed. He thinks he has an idea of what Takao’s trying to get at now - he’s not stupid, thank you - and this idiocy is really not needed in his life.

 

“You know what I’m talking about. Or you really should, even if your emotional digestive system has a few obstructions here and there.” Takao is still smiling, but his voice has turned serious. “Don’t wait, Shin-chan. If you think about it, Brahms was pretty lucky that he didn’t go stale or happen upon some great misfortune during all those years. Not everyone might be so fortunate. You might not be so fortunate. You gotta write your symphony, Shin-chan!”

 

Midorima grabs the nearest trashy DVD.

 

\--

 

As they are walking to the subway after their second dinner meeting after rehearsal one night (Midorima didn’t even freak out this time, which he is rather proud of, and he doesn’t recall telling Takao anything about the event, but Takao somehow found out anyway and whispered a totally unnecessary, out-of-place “write your symphony” to Midorima five times that day), Akashi finally brings up the topic of the mid-season concert.

 

“I’ve been working on the details of the Tchaikovsky,” he tells Midorima. “Takao has informed me that I’ll begin rehearsing with the orchestra this week. It is quite a fascinating concerto.”

 

“Indeed. There’s a reason why it is well known as one of the violin masterpieces of all time.” Midorima looks at Akashi. “How is the progress so far? What are your opinions on the piece?” 

 

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about, actually. As you mentioned during our first conversation on the topic, this concerto is a bit of a departure from the pieces I’m used to playing, and I’ve been having some trouble with the interpretation.”

 

“I see.” Midorima can feel excitement rising within him. He had, in fact, found a score of the concerto almost immediately after Takao told him the news last month, and listened to several recordings. It was an intriguing piece, after all, and he wants to be fully prepared to work with Akashi. He pushes up his glasses. “I’ve began studying the score already, in fact, so I’d be willing to offer what assistance I can. Where do you want to start?”

 

Akashi looks thoughtful. “I was hoping that we would be able to work on this in a place where I would be able to play my violin for a bit. A bit like an individual run-through before working with the full orchestra, perhaps, to decide where we want to take this piece.”

 

“That sounds like an excellent idea. When would you like to work on it?”

 

When Akashi speaks next, his eyes are determined. “Right now, if you wouldn’t mind.”

 

“Right now?” Midorima is both very excited and very terrified.

 

“Yes.” And Akashi strides into the station.

 

They end up, half an hour later, in Akashi’s condominium. Entering behind the violinist, Midorima glances around and notices how neat and expensive everything looks, but cold. Almost as if the place is not used much, he realizes. The walls are spotless and bare, and the room looks to contain not much apart from a few pieces of high-end furniture. Any other day he would probably be freaking out about visiting Akashi’s for the first time, but Midorima’s thoughts are filled with two things: the Tchaikovsky concerto, and the desire to hear Akashi play.

 

Akashi flips on the light switches and sets his violin case down on a side table, gesturing for Midorima to take a seat. “Water?” He asks, and Midorima politely accepts. The next few minutes are spent in silence as Akashi takes out his violin and flips through his music.

 

Midorima sips his water. There is an upright piano in the corner, on top of which sits a framed photograph of a smiling woman, the only noticeable piece of decor in the room. He wonders about this, and is debating whether it would be rude to ask Akashi about the picture when the violinist speaks.

 

“The woman in the photograph is my mother,” Akashi explains. He has moved to stand next to Midorima’s place on the sofa, and is looking at the picture with an unreadable expression. “She passed away when I was young.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear about that.”

 

“But she was the one who instilled in my my passion for music, and inspired me to choose this career.” Akashi is smiling. “A memorable part of my childhood. Now, shall we begin working?” He sets his music onto a stand.

 

“Of course.” Midorima is still thinking about this new, and no doubt significant, piece of information he has learned about Akashi, but at least it does not seem to trouble the violinist the way speaking of his other parent had. It piques his curiosity, but the subject is obviously closed, so he turns his gaze towards Akashi and nods. “Do you want to start off with playing the piece right away? Or discuss some of the background first?”

 

“Discussion,” decides Akashi, and pulls up a chair to take a seat facing Midorima. “So. The Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto, Opus 35. Written in 1878, dedicated to Adolph Brodsky.”

 

“Dedicated to Brodsky, yes, but not written for him. Many accounts say that Tchaikovsky truly wrote the concerto for the violinist Iosif Kotek, his pupil.” Midorima adjusts his glasses. “And, apparently, lover. It was a difficult period of the composer’s life, following a failed marriage, and the composition and relationship were probably somewhat therapeutic. However, Tchaikovsky did not want to raise suspicions about the nature of his relationship with the violinist, who ended up refusing to play the concerto anyway.”

 

“I see. You’ve done your research,” says Akashi. “It’s quite a sad tale, for such a beautiful piece of music.”

 

“Yes. Tchaikovsky’s entire life was not exactly a happy one. He was always always at pains to hide his sexuality from the public, as homosexuality was certainly frowned upon in Russia at that time. The sadness and yearning, I think, are given a voice in the concerto, especially in the wistfulness of the first movement’s slow theme. Although, there are moments where the violin sounds almost happy.”

 

“As if Tchaikovsky wanted to display the ephemeral joy he experienced while working on the piece with his lover,” concludes Akashi. “I see. Many complex emotions. It is unfortunate that Tchaikovsky had to hide himself in such a way. In today’s world, I would probably not have to do the same.”

 

Partially lost in thought, Midorima vaguely realizes the fact that he and Akashi are discussing a highly sensitive topic, albeit in the form of recounting the story of men long dead, and  _ did Akashi just imply that he was gay? _ Midorima cannot stop the faint bubble of hope that rises in his chest.  _ Think about music. We are talking about the concerto _ .

 

“Your portrayal of the Brahms concerto,” says Midorima, thinking out loud, “was heroic.”

 

“Yes. I felt that it was meant to be expressed in such a way, and proved victorious.”

 

“Many of your other recordings as well, in fact. In those pieces, there’s a sense of absoluteness, of heroism, of strength, of victory. Tchaikovsky, in contrast, is more vulnerable.” A pause. “More human. The emotions are raw, not shielded in armour. There is a sense of loss. Yes - perhaps think of this as a starting point. To truly understand this concerto, think of loss.”

 

“Loss,” repeats Akashi, and goes silent.

 

When Midorima finally looks up, he realizes that Akashi’s face has gone cold, eyes blazing. “I,” says Akashi, voice icily calm, “do not lose.”

 

Midorima is panicking. He had not expected such a reaction, oh no, he had let himself get carried away with his words, and forgotten who he was talking to -  _ all Akashi Seijuro does is win _ -

 

“You are suggesting, Midorima,” continues Akashi, standing up and looking down at him, “that a masterpiece like this is about loss? You are saying that I would lose?”

 

“It is not losing in the sense of losing and winning, per say,” says Midorima, desperately attempting to backtrack. “Loss in the sense of missing something, perhaps. It is not so black and white.”

 

“That is a foolish way of thinking. If you lose, you do not win. And victory defines life. If, in playing this concerto, I were to, as you put it, ‘lose’, that would be unacceptable.”

 

Akashi’s voice is still deadly calm, one hand gripping his violin and bow, and Midorima knows he is digging his own grave, but he cannot, inexplicably, back down. “Music is not about winning.”

 

“Is it not?” asks Akashi. “In the musical world, those who win competitions, who win awards, take it all. Those who cannot do so are wiped away. I am here because I have won. So are you. Every piece, every performance, is a victory or a loss. And for me, there is only victory.”

 

“When the Philharmonic performs, we do not do so for the sake of victory,” states Midorima. “We simply prepare our best and play, to express. That is music.”

 

“Do you truly feel,” he asks, “that your position here, your performances, are only another victory?”

 

“They will be. So far, everything had been going according to plan. This was not expected, Midorima. But in the end, you shall see that I am right.

 

“It is getting late. I suggest that you go home now, Midorima. Good night.” It was not a suggestion.

 

Midorima opens his mouth, but no words come out. Akashi is already packing up his violin.

 

\--

 

At the first rehearsal of the Tchaikovsky concerto, Akashi is perfectly poised and does not play a single wrong note. Every difficult passage is executed with minute precision and a sense of deadly power, each melody commanding the world. It is as if Akashi is boldly declaring his perfection, his utter lack of weakness, and the orchestra behind him kneels and follows. It is as if every note Akashi plays  _ wins _ .

 

It is, Midorima thinks, wrong. It is not Tchaikovsky.

 

He wants to say something, to ask Akashi to consider playing each phrase in a different tone, but Akashi’s eyes are domineering, daring him to defy if he dares. Midorima stops the orchestra again and again, makes them repeat here and there, but cannot say a word.

 

Rehearsal is over half an hour earlier than usual.

 

When Midorima exits the hall and walks to the subway station, Akashi is nowhere to be seen. Hopelessly, he glances around, but there is no trace of a small man with bright red hair and a violin on his back, and he sighs and walks through the door.

 

The pattern continues. Frustrating, terrifying rehearsals. Solitary train rides home. Midorima still does not speak to Akashi, and he dodges Takao’s inquisitive looks and whispers.

 

He holds out like this for two days, proud and stubbornly refusing to bring anything up to anyone. He had simply miscalculated, had assumed too much and acted too rashly without adequate preparation. He had fooled himself into thinking he was discovering the real Akashi Seijurou, finding someone past the untouchable enigma of the glossy biography, but it was all a mistake.

 

All Akashi Seijurou does is win. That is the simple truth.

 

By the third day, however, he feels himself beginning to break down. He wants to hear Akashi’s voice in conversation again, watch his arm reach for the subway handhold, see his genuine smile. He wants to go up to the violinist and talk to him, and ask how things suddenly turned so wrong, and start all over again. He wants to be with Akashi. He wants Akashi. But he finds himself even further back than he was the first time in the elevator, unsure of what to say. This time, there is not only a heavy awkwardness, but also a cold, crippling fear.

 

Midorima remembers every detail about Akashi that he’s stored in his brain over the past months, each feature and conversation. He buys a disc of Akashi’s recording of the Brahms Violin Concerto, puts it in his record player, and listens helplessly again and again as the power, the invincibility, the sound of  _ victory _ resounds throughout the room.

 

Lying in bed in his condominium each night, unable to fall asleep, Midorima feels, for the first time in years, lonely.

 

\--

 

“There’s something off with Akashi’s concerto,” states Takao on the fifth day, having confronted Midorima at the hall’s entrance after rehearsal. “Something happened.”

 

It is not a question. Midorima ignores this and tries to shove his way past Takao. The sun is setting, and he must go home and study his scores. “Everything is fine. We are having some minor setbacks with the concerto, yes, but I will solve them. Go home.”

 

“Everything is not  _ fine _ , Shin-chan, you’ve looked like a wilted carrot for the past week.”

 

“If such crude insults are all you have to offer, I suggest that you stop wasting my time.” Takao is somehow managing to keep up with Midorima despite the conductor’s best efforts to break away, and it is really getting quite annoying.

 

“Something’s going on between you and Akashi. Spill.” The look on Takao’s face suddenly turns serious. “Did you… finally confess?”

 

“Nothing of that sort.” Midorima keeps his features expressionless, adjusting his glasses. “I assure you, there is absolutely nothing happening, Takao.”

 

“Shin-chan. Look at me. There is definitely, for sure, something wrong. I will  _ call Akashi and ask him about - _ ”

 

Midorima snaps his head to turn towards Takao. “What did you just say.”

 

“I will call Akashi and ask him what is going on, because dammit, Shin-chan, this is becoming really worrying, ok? The two of you haven’t been speaking all week, you haven’t spoken to me all week either, and rehearsal is starting to get really scary. Please, Shin-chan. You can’t keep doing this forever.”

 

Through a mixture of Takao’s persistent prodding and his own frustration, Midorima finally gives in with a sigh. “I suppose… yes. Akashi and I had a disagreement and I’m… unsure of how to act now.”

 

“Ah.” There’s a concerned look in Takao’s eyes, and he stops walking. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

 

And Midorima does. Standing halfway between the hall and the subway entrance, with the sky darkening, he slowly tells Takao the story.

 

How, half a year ago, the enigma in the biography inexplicably drew him in, and left him with an unshakable fixation and a desire to know more, to find the truth. How the reality, when it arrived, was at once what the paper had described and everything it could never express, and gave him these strange feelings that were so difficult to deal with. How the train rides and the conversations and the dinners made Akashi a part of his life that he had never expected to fit into place so easily. How lost he felt, and still feels, after that disastrous conversation about Tchaikovsky and victory, and how despite the fact that everything seems to be over, it is impossible for him to forget any part of the journey or to stop wanting more.

 

Midorima doesn’t think he’s ever talked this much at once in his life, and he struggles to pronounce each word, unsure of the way to phrase these thoughts and emotions that he has suppressed and hidden away for so long.

 

“I had thought for the longest time,” he concludes, “That solitude was something I could always enjoy. That, if somebody like Akashi came and left, it would not matter to me. But it seems that such an assumption… was wrong. I just.” He pauses.

 

“Whether Akashi is truly the man who only wins, or the person I thought I came to know, or perhaps both, I cannot stop thinking about him. I just can’t seem to cut him out of my life.”

 

“Shin-chan.” Takao is thoughtful. “You love Akashi, don’t you.”

 

Midorima looks defeated, but eventually he says, “I… yes. I probably do.”

 

“Then you have to tell him that. Akashi - and I’ve watched the two of you enough to say this with some confidence - he cares for you. Winning, losing... You won’t know until you’ve tried, Shin-chan. Go write your symphony.”

 

With a tired smile, Midorima nods. “I shall do my best.”

 

\--

 

In the end, laughably, it’s Akashi who ends up making the first move again. Midorima is riding up the escalator after his (solitary) subway ride and definitely not sulking when his phone rings.

 

The call is from  _ Unknown number _ , but Midorima gets a feeling he knows the identity of the caller already. Of course, this has the initial effect of making him consider silencing his phone, but Takao’s words and his own resolution come to mind, and he picks up.

 

“Hello.” Akashi’s voice is weary and a bit guarded, far from the cold and commanding persona at rehearsal. “I apologize for bothering you, Midorima.”

 

Midorima’s hand gripping his phone begins to sweat, and he lets out a shaky breath. He has missed Akashi’s voice. He has missed this so much.  _ We haven’t even made up yet, we’re technically still fighting _ , he thinks, and is at a loss for words. What would even be an appropriate response? His preparations had not accounted for the possibility of Akashi acting first. This was all going horribly.

 

“I assume you’re still there,” Akashi continues. “It would not surprise me if you refused, considering the way I have… acted towards you, but I have a request.”

 

Finally finding his voice, Midorima responds unsteadily. “What is it?”

 

“I would like some assistance in preparing the concerto. The concert is not far away, and, as you know, rehearsals so far have been less than ideal. Please.”

 

A pause. Midorima realizes, at some point, that Akashi is waiting for an answer, and hurriedly says, “Yes, of course. I’d be very happy to do that. I mean, when?”

 

“Would you be able to… come over right now?” Akashi sounds hesitant. “There are other things I wish to say. But it would be best not to do so over the phone.”

 

“I’ll be right over,” Midorima replies, and runs down the stairs.

 

He reaches Akashi’s condominium in less than ten minutes, nervously knocking on the door. When the violinist opens it, Midorima is taken aback at what he sees. Up close, Akashi looks tired and forlorn, even more so than his voice had sounded on the phone. He does not look at all, Midorima realizes, like someone invincible and victorious, but rather like someone tiny, exhausted, and very much human.

 

“Thank you for coming.” Akashi closes the door and sits down on a chair, Midorima taking a seat on the sofa across from him, reminiscent of the first and only other time they had been in that same room. “I was expecting you to decline.”

 

“That would not have been a possibility.”

 

“I see,” says Akashi. He fidgets slightly with the hem of his shirt, glances around, eyes meeting Midorima’s after a few awkward seconds and then darting away again. “Although I said earlier that my purpose for calling you over was to work on the concerto, firstly, I have an apology to make.

 

“Last week, when we had our… disagreement over the interpretation of the Tchaikovsky, I spoke with the beliefs that I have held for my entire life. Victory had been all that I knew, and any suggestions otherwise were difficult to process.

 

“But after you left, even though I had held my ground, it did not feel like a victory. I could not really explain it to myself, and continued playing with perhaps even more conviction than I had ever done in an attempt to thwart my confusion.

 

“I’ve come to realize that what I felt, then, could only be explained as loss. When you walked out of the door that day, I lost something.

 

“This loss was my own doing, coming out of the way I spoke and acted. It would be understandable if you wished for this loss to remain. That is all. I am really sorry, Midorima.”

 

Akashi finishes speaking, eyes downcast, and Midorima does not know what to say. He wants to comfort Akashi somehow, to say  _ it’s okay _ . Somehow, after all he has said about Akashi needing loss, he does not want this to be the loss in Akashi’s life.

 

After a long silence, Midorima finally speaks. “Akashi. Would you like to play the Tchaikovsky concerto with me?”

 

“Pardon?” Akashi looks up jerkily.

 

“The concerto. I have the piano part in my bag.”

 

“You… wish to work on the concerto?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Akashi slowly stands up and picks up his violin case, placing it on the table and preparing his instrument with a well-practiced motion as Midorima takes out his music and opens the upright piano, the photo of Akashi’s mother smiling down at him as he does so. He slides out the stool and sits down, flipping the music open to the first page and glancing up as Akashi walks up to stand beside him.

 

The first note of the introduction sounds on the piano, a simple melody leading into more complex textures. When it is time for the solo violin to join in at last, Midorima breathes in and turns to Akashi as the first low note is drawn out.

 

Their performance is choppy at first, rhythms not quite fitting in place and notes played slightly wrong or out of tune. Slowly, however, the harmonies begin to resonate, violin and piano entwined in a song that fills up the room. It fills it with and longing, and vulnerability, with ephemeral episodes of joy, and with the profound feeling of loss.

 

There is still so much, Midorima thinks, that he wants to say to Akashi, that he was incapable of putting into words, but instead of voicing anything, he pours it into his playing, reaching out with each note. He feels the response in Akashi’s melodies, singing out with no sign of cold invincibility and every bit with human emotion.

 

When the last chord is played, Midorima slowly turns towards Akashi, the sound still echoing in the air, and their eyes meet, red on green, Akashi looking down but not with condescension. Without saying a single word, it feels like they have just told each other everything they wanted to say, in this extended moment belonging to just the two of them, and like they had both simultaneously lost and won.

 

Midorima thinks he would really like to kiss Akashi.

 

Moments later, he is still staring up when Akashi bends down and cups his face with one hand, and their lips meet.

 

He closes his eyes, and does not pull away.

 

\--

 

It seems, thinks Midorima Shintarou as he lifts his baton, that all Akashi Seijurou does is win.

 

That is how it seems to the world. He has won his competitions, his awards, his reputation, his position. That is how people see him when they read his biography. Akashi Seijurou's life is one comprised of victories.

 

What they do not know of is the story of half a year's journey, of something not concrete or nameable like an award or medal. It is the story of experiences past and a new relationship growing, of discovery. Perhaps it could be described as a victory too - the victory of and with Midorima Shintarou.

 

It's something that the world may never read in writing, a version of Akashi and Midorima's lives that will never be expressed in words. But they are musicians, and if they were to tell their biography, Midorima thinks, it might sound something like this.

 

The orchestral introduction ends, they breathe together, and Akashi plays.

**Author's Note:**

> from mdak ss on tumblr. i hope you liked it, yucchi ^^  
> comments/critique/kudos are appreciated!


End file.
